


Dancing Lessons

by Square Pudding (Square_Pudding)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Dancing, Flirting, M/M, Reno's gender is whatever he fucking wants it to be, Rude/OC mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Square_Pudding/pseuds/Square%20Pudding
Summary: Reno helps Rude score with the ladies.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Dancing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old, old, OLD fic. xD I'm bringing it back because, well, I guess I didn't totally hate the prose, and it's relevant again, and I will go down with this ship. 
> 
> Set sometime around Before Crisis.

Rude said once upon a time that there were rules to any partnership, like a contract. They didn't have to be written down. In theory, they shouldn't even need to be said, just understood in time, seeped into your system like osmosis. And ideally, it went something like:

  1. You do not fire if your partner is in the way.
  2. You do not trade your general-issue equipment.
  3. You do not make wagers at work.
  4. You do not go out for drinks after shift.
  5. You keep your nose the hell out of your partner's personal life.



There was no telling Reno that. Not for any of those points, but especially the last two. The last one.

And this time had to be a new low for both of them, because not only was Reno extending his hand to help where he damn well shouldn't, Rude was all but asking for it.

"Okay," said Reno, slipping off his goggles. "Pretend for a second I'm a girl."

The problem started when Rude went looking for a lay and bit off more than he could chew, in the form of Mademoiselle Dominique Delacroix, who liked fine vintage wines and moogle fur coats, and wasn't going to spread her legs on anything less than silk. The average guy might have faced the challenge as a matter of course, but Turks, when they managed a fuck at all and weren't just sobbing in their apartments alternately making friends with a bottle and their palm, liked things quick and easy and preferably cheap. But Rude couldn't run, because he wasn't good at running from women, and especially wasn't good at running from the Mademoiselle. She was fiercely enamored with him, for one thing. It was the tough rugged look, the one that mortified her father.

It meant Rude got a short leash in his off hours. Which might have been enjoyable, if the collar weren't snug around his dick.

"First step, if you wanna schmooze her right," said Reno, "is you gotta have the right moves."

They were a half head's difference in height. Greater difference than Dominique when she was in those hell's heels of hers, the ones that sparked on the pavement and sent mongrel dogs running for the alley. Without his gel, Reno's hair looked like a flattened dandelion puff, one that had had an unfortunate accident with fruit juice. Which was about how it smelled too.

"C'mon, slide it... Yeah, that's right. Like that."

Rude's hand twitched on Reno's shoulder and he tried to withdraw. Reno moved with and he moved nowhere at all. "Relax," the kid was saying. "You wanna learn how to dance or not?"

Rude would have given anything to say that what he _wanted_ was a girlfriend without pretense, basically a warm wet hole, and he had better things to do with his time than play around with shit like this to get it. And who the hell was Reno to offer anything with some girl's handprint still burning on his cheek? That's what he wanted to know.

It wasn't that Turks didn't value human relationships. Everyone was quick to say Shinra's wetwork division was made up of a bunch of amoral corporate thugs, but Turks liked their teammates, in particular their patrol partners. They especially liked people that offered a warm body and something pure and senseless after a day in hell. But it didn't mean you had to get impractical.

Reno was leaning against his chest and saying, "Okay, now your left foot."

He'd put some music on, just because it wouldn't work otherwise, he said. Not the kind of tunes Rude was used to hearing out of the kid's phone. Probably the same stuff he put on to impress chicks. 'Mood music.'

"Move closer. Like that. Yeah."

He had long, thick lashes. This close, Rude could see the faint remains of childhood freckles on his cheeks, the blond roots to his hair. Rude had to wonder, maybe, how it was that in five years working together, he'd never seen this guy's hair with its natural color. Probably Reno's own mother wouldn't know what it was.

His breath was warm.

Dominique leaned close like this when they were out in the cold together waiting for her father's sedan. She was a bit softer, but Reno put his hips into it, guiding Rude's hand down to his waist while saying, "When you get her like this, you wanna go real slow, just slowly, slowwwly..."

And: "Rest it at -- Yeah, you've got it."

And: "Keep it there for, like, a while. Make her comfortable. Once you've got her there..."

Reno edged the hand down again. Too far.

_God._

Rude tried to even imagine doing something like this with a girl like Dominique. The soft cry of protest he'd get, how she'd try to squirm away and he would squeeze harder to hold her in place, one hand on the corner of a hip and the other palmed possessively over her ass, hard enough to bruise, hard to leave a mark like the slap on Reno's cheek shining under the fluorescent lights as he tilted back his head--

Reno should have had the decency to ruin the moment. He should have laughed, said, no, he wasn't that much of a girl, sorry, and mocked his partner for a few good weeks over drinks at the bar.

That didn't happen. Over on the table, the playlist reached the last song and went silent. The air between them was quiet except for Reno's little summer breaths.

"Hey," he breathed, baby blue eyes half-lidded and his arms wrapped around his partner's neck. "How well do you kiss?"

They really should stop.

And actually, the more Rude thought about it, the more he was sure there should be more than five rules to this partners thing.

Then again, they always broke them anyway.


End file.
